


Chasing Ghosts

by peteor



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, RvB Ladies Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peteor/pseuds/peteor
Summary: A bright flash from Epsilon that has her squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opens her eyes again, the pale blue has been replaced by purple. An ugly, grey purple, on a projection that stands tall and straight, staring at Carolina. No, staring through Carolina.“…Omega?” Carolina asks, going tense, reaching for her gun.Omega disappears, and not even a second later, a hologram projection appears in front of her that has her throat going dry.Black armour, a shift to her hips, a hand on the hip jutting out, tapping the armour on her thigh. Her head is cocked, looking almost bored.And then she speaks.--the fic where carolina sees freelancer through the eyes of agent texas





	Chasing Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> based off a post by @leonardalphachurch (http://leonardalphachurch.tumblr.com/post/165567165483/a-much-much-better-season-10-episode-12-where)
> 
> "A much MUCH better season 10 episode 12 where instead of showing Carolina York’s weird ass audio diaries Epsilon instead shows her Tex’s audio logs from when she was in Freelancer."
> 
> anyway, i'm not good at angst, so this is as close as we get, but i still wanted to participate in ladies angst day anyway. hope u enjoy :)

“I’m sorry, York.”

Carolina almost doesn’t recognize the emotion in her voice. It’s too much, it’s more than she ever thought she’d be able to muster up in a single sentence again. In the years she’s been hiding, having lost everything and everyone she’d ever known, she’d built up walls that she promised herself she would never again let down.

But Wash had told her the idiots would grow on her, the idiots would change her, and maybe it’s already happening. Slowly, surely, because she’s standing here, she’d bending over, taking the lighter pinched between her thumb and finger, and feeling tears well up in her eyes.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t understand.

And she still doesn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” She tells the lighter, as if the inanimate object is York himself. She runs her thumb over the surface; what once was white is now charred, scratched, deep grooves of silver where the paint has come off are bumpy under her gloved hand. “I just… I don’t understand.”

Why her?

“Why her?”

_Why?_ She’s wanted to know for so long, and now she never will. Sure, she’s learned bits and pieces. Was able to put everything together years ago. If she didn’t know at least part of the _why_ , she wouldn’t have tracked down Epsilon - tracked down the Reds and Blues, and Wash…

But she doesn’t know everything. And she knows she’s going to have to accept that she never will.

“Why _Tex_?”

She pauses, then, looking down at the lighter, as if it will give her the answers she needs. But it’s nothing but a useless paperweight, now, heavy in her palm, heavy in her heart, beating at the walls she’d spent years building up in a desperate effort to send them all tumbling down.

“…Tex?”

As fast as they appear, the cracks of her shell mend over, tighten up, grow thicker and taller and stronger, as she grips the lighter hard in her fist and whips her head around, glaring at the small pale blue light above her bike.

“ _You_ ,” she growls, stalking towards him.

Sometimes she thinks Epsilon and his friends - Wash included - are more trouble than they’re worth. But she’s insightful enough to know that it’s her own problems that are making them seem more annoying than they are.

Damn the Simulation Troopers and their healthy adjustment to the whirlwind of change they’ve been thrown into. Damn Agent fucking Washington and his ability to recover from everything so easily.

Damn them all and their _loyalty_.

Epsilon says, “Carolina, I-”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” Carolina cuts him off, seething, crouching down in front of him and holding her helmet inches from his projected figure, hoping she’s radiating all the rage she feels at being listened in on. All the rage she feels at being _exposed_ and _vulnerable_ in front of a piece of Alpha.

A piece of her _father_.

“You and your friends just think I’m some blood-thirsty merc with a bad attitude,” she continues, knowing she’s right, it’s not even a question. “But you know what? You’re wrong. I’m _much_ worse.”

She’s not. She knows she’s not. But she _needs to be_.

“Look,” Epsilon says, and the lack of fear in his voice, the indignation and condescension in his tone, has something close to intimidation clenching in her chest. “You go and round up _everyone_ I know, just to bring me back, and then you keep us all in the dark? What the hell did you _think_ was gonna happen, Carolina? Of course no one trusts you!”

_What did you think was going to happen, Carolina? What did you think your actions were going to achieve?_

Carolina grips the lighter so hard she can feel the edges digging into her skin through the kevlar. “Well I don’t trust them, Epsilon. I don’t trust _anyone_ anymore.”

Shut up, Carolina. You can’t open up to him, you can’t let him in, you can’t bare yourself and show your feelings to him. He’s Alpha, he’s the Director, he’s everyone who’s ever taken your feelings and your vulnerability and thrown it back in your face. He’s the living embodiment of everyone who turned yourself against you, everyone who took who you were and twisted it to fit what they needed.

“Oh, why not?” Epsilon snaps, angry, and a part of Carolina acknowledges he has every right to be, because she’s handling all of this terribly. But there’s a bigger, darker part of Carolina that tells her he’s wrong - _everyone’s_ wrong - and she’s right. “Because having friends would ruin the whole ‘loner bitch’ thing you’ve got going on? ‘Cause that would be a real shame.”

His voice is scathing, childish, petty. But there’s something in it that sets something off in Carolina. Something that reminds her it’s been years since she’s opened up to someone. Something that reminds her she’s only human, and she’s _desperate_ for _someone_ to _understand_.

“It's because I _had_ a team once,” Carolina finds herself saying before she can stop herself. “A team with the best training, the best equipment. And despite _everything_ they had that made them the best, they still lied, and stole, and _tore each other to pieces_. So you tell me, how the hell am I supposed to trust a ragtag team of _idiots_ , when I couldn’t even trust the people that were closest to me?”

A pause, and then Epsilon disappears.

“That’s what I thought,” Carolina says, but to her surprise, it comes out sounding more disappointed than smug.

—

She needs to stop staring at it. She should investigate the area, gather data, search for clues. But all she can do is stare down at it and remember.

York, Errera, Freelancer. And not just him, but everyone. North, South, Wyoming, Niner.

Maine.

Wash.

Connie.

_Texas_.

“C-Carolina?”

She shouldn’t be surprised that every time her mind comes around to her, Epsilon appears. Those two…

Don’t think about it, Carolina. Anything would be better than thinking about them, who they are, who they _were_.

“I’m done talking to you,” Carolina says, the emotion gone from her tone once again, and something about that satisfies her.

“Carolina, I-” Epsilon continues, stuttering, blinking, and Carolina becomes slightly concerned. She needs him, after all, and if he’s dying, she needs to get a move on. “I think I found something you might wanna see.”

Carolina’s concern is replaced with annoyance as she replies, “Really. What might that be?”

A bright flash from Epsilon that has her squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opens her eyes again, the pale blue has been replaced by purple. An ugly, grey purple, on a projection that stands tall and straight, staring at Carolina. No, staring _through_ Carolina.

“…Omega?” Carolina asks, going tense, reaching for her gun.

Omega disappears, and not even a second later, a hologram projection appears in front of her that has her throat going dry.

Black armour, a shift to her hips, a hand on the hip jutting out, tapping the armour on her thigh. Her head is cocked, looking almost bored.

And then she speaks.

“Director said that my memory was impaired due to cybernetic augmentations. Not that I know what the hell all that nerd talk means. Either way, apparently these entries are important, in case I experience some short term memory problems. So, here I am.”

“It can’t be…”

Texas laughs, suddenly, and Carolina takes a few steps closer to the projection, eyes narrowed, hand still at the pistol on her hip.

“Not that I think I could ever forget what happened today. Probably the most insane training-slash-initiation I’ve ever had. And no, that’s not because I can’t remember the other ones. It’s because my sparring buddies got their asses kicked so hard, they tried to use live rounds on the training floor to take me out. Big dummies.

“Now, normally, I’d be way more amused by this, but there was an… incident. Those idiots brought grenades into play, and one of their teammates got caught in the crossfire- or, well, I guess he’s my teammate now, too. Still, teammate or not, I’m worried. Probably gonna go check on him after this. Poor guy might never see out of his one eye again.”

She disappears briefly, but before Carolina can even process what happened, she’s back.

“I’m only a few weeks into this program, but I’ve already found some things to have fun with,” she says fondly, shifting her weight and tilting her head thoughtfully. “The Director’s put me on glorified clean-up duty for now, and while I’d normally hate spending my time blowing shit up instead of knocking heads, it’s nice to observe my team. Get a feel for how they all fight before I join them in missions, officially. York’s having trouble with his depth perception, which is a shame, but Wash and Carolina pick up his slack. Carolina especially. I’ve gotta say, I thought I’d be the best in this program by far, because I’m a cocky bitch, but Carolina… she’s pretty damn awesome.”

Carolina feels her throat get tight, her eyes stinging, as she stares up at Texas’ figure.

“I guess we’ll see who’s the best,” Texas continues with a light laugh. “This program’s pretty competitive - they’ve got a leaderboard and everything - and I’m all about that. I’m ready to prove myself, and I know Carolina is, too. May the best lady win, yeah?”

Disappear. Reappear.

Carolina still can’t believe what she’s seeing.

“Wish the Director would let me actually spend time with the team. I’m not allowed to train with them, spend time in the locker room, or even eat with them,” a sigh. “I’d love to get to know Carolina, more. We could train together, show each other our tricks. I bet we could both get a hell of a lot better if we had time to exchange techniques. Hell, Omega’s such terrible company, I’d even hang out with _Wyoming_.”

“You’ll regret saying that.”

“Can it, Megs, you don’t scare me,” Texas snaps, then gestures to something offscreen while addressing the journal entry. “See what I mean? I’m always up to put a jackass in his place, but when that jackass is living in my head, it gets old fast.”

Another flicker, and then Texas is back. Her body language is different this time. She’s slouched over, avoiding staring directly into the camera, her hands hanging loosely at her sides.

“I killed the traitor today,” she says. Carolina’s jaw clenches. Texas continues, “Agent Connecticut. I don’t exactly regret it. You never abandon your team, especially not for the enemy. But what scares me is that I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t let her live even if I wanted to.”

“I thought I didn’t scare you.”

Texas laughs bitterly. “You don’t, Omega. But what you’re capable of bringing out in me does.”

She disappears again, but then she’s back, her projected figure pacing back and forth, half of her body disappearing out of view every time she makes a turn. Carolina snaps her head up and stares at her, speechless, wondering what she could possibly say next.

“Allison, Allison, Allison, Allison,” Texas repeats, over and over, her arms crossed over her chest as she paces back and forth. “That’s my name. But why…”

A pause, she stops moving, unfolds her arms, then throws her hands up and starts pacing again, hands balled up into fists at her sides.

Carolina jumps when Tex disappears offscreen and clearly punches something, a loud shattering, cracking sound coming from the journal entry. Then she’s back, pacing, cursing under her breath.

“You know,” she says. “Whatever my name means, Carolina’s in a coma because of it. So I think it’s time for me to figure out what the _hell_ is going on, here.”

This time, when she disappears, she's gone for long enough that Carolina thinks it’s over. Thinks maybe she can let her guard down, start processing everything she’d heard, ask Epsilon what the hell is going on.

But then she reappears, this time sitting down, hunched over, her hands hanging between her knees, elbows on her thighs.

“You know,” she says, and Carolina can hear the bitter smile in her tone. “I never thought Carolina hated me. I thought she felt the same way I did - we were in a friendly competition, may the best soldier win, blah blah blah. Whatever. All that’s useless, now. She’s… gone.

“I never thought she’d refuse to come with me,” she continues. “I really didn’t know how much she hated me, not until York told me- well, that doesn’t matter anymore, either. He’s gone, too. Hell, for all I know, I’m the only one left who hasn’t gone rogue like Wyoming. Cockbite. Though, last I heard through transmissions, they had turned Wash into their little errand boy. Poor guy.”

The sound of a door sliding open in the background, and then a hesitant, “Tex?”

“Jesus, Church,” Texas says, all softness gone from her voice and replaced with a combination of annoyance and amusement that Carolina’s never heard from her before. “Learn to fucking knock."

“Fuck you, this is _my_ room,” the voice says again, and Carolina realizes it’s Epsilon’s voice, the Alpha’s voice. _Church_. “…What are you doing?”

“Making a journal entry.”

Carolina watches as another figure in pale blue armour joins Texas, sitting down and leaning far enough into her personal space that Carolina’s not at all surprised when Texas elbows him hard enough to have him screeching and holding his ribs.

“Ow! Bitch,” the Alpha grumbles, then looks at the camera. “I can’t believe you make these entries. I know Command makes you, and everything, but you do realize that none of us ever do this, right? What do you even talk about?”

“Right now? Freelancer things,” Texas answers, gesturing to the camera. “Just talking about York, and Carolina.”

A pause, and then the Alpha asks, “They died, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. They did.”

“Carolina was your friend, right?”

Texas sighs. “No, she hated me. And even if she didn’t, it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t save her.”

The Alpha says, “You can’t blame yourself for that, Tex.”

“No, I can’t,” Texas replies. “But I can’t help but think… if it had been the other way around…”

“What, she could have saved _you_?”

“Well, she wouldn’t have even tried,” Texas says with a sad laugh. “But yeah. Yeah, I bet she could’ve.”


End file.
